As she opened the rear door of the sedan, the flashing-on of the roof-light disclosed a man sitting at the wheel.
He was older than the girl, dark like her but with a craggy lined face, and eyes that might have been humorous if they were not so alert and alarmed. He too wore around his neck a silver egg that hummed.
"Kara, you took too long!" he said. "Any minute—"
"It took time to find him," she said. "I'll open the gate. No, Rett—you get in, quick!"
As Birrel climbed unsteadily into the rear seat, the girl—so her name was Kara?—ran and swung open the street-gate, then ran back to the car.
Birrel's mind was clearing but things were happening too fast. He heard a continuous thin, whining sound that was coming from the front seat. It came from a square black box that rested on the seat beside the driver.
The girl Kara leaped into the back with Birrel and said, "Turn it off now, Holmer—and go!"
The man at the wheel reached and touched the box, and the whining sound ceased. Then, instantly, he snicked on the headlights, and sent the car leaping out through the open gate into the alley.
Within two minutes, they were out in the glittering stream of Fourth Avenue's night traffic, heading north.
Only then did the girl turn to Birrel. She said, almost passionately,